


Blanket

by salineshots



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Pining, Spooning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 17:00:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16857844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salineshots/pseuds/salineshots
Summary: A gift forglow--squid, who gave me a prompt for Keith and Lance, low-key pining, and accidental spooning! Thanks to her for participating in my headcanon contest!





	Blanket

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Glowsquid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glowsquid/gifts).



The Galra facility was a blazing ruin behind them. As the cliffs under it crumbled away, taking chunks of the building with them, the screech of metal tore at Keith’s ears. Their side of this week-long waking nightmare of a mission was a success, if a messy one, and all that was left was for him and Lance to sprint to their ride and get out. The rebel transport was on the edge of the cliffs, engines growling and barely willing to wait for them.

Keith made it into the open cargo hold first.

He leapt on. His shin narrowly missed the corner of the threshold, and then he was gripping the support bar along the side of the doorway to pull himself upright and turn to look out again. The pod lifted off the ground, or maybe the ground was collapsing under it.

Lance wasn’t on the pod yet. He was right there, reaching up to show Keith his gloved hand. Keith swung his free arm out and caught it.

He heard his name in Lance’s voice. It sounded shrill, but Keith would forgive that. All he had to do was hold on, keep his grip on the bar and Lance’s wrist, and pull. It was amazing how heavy Lance could be to just one arm, and with the ship moving higher and adding force against them, Keith wasn’t sure what progress he could make. He was hanging halfway out the door, knees on the metal floor and his grip threatening to bend the metal bar. And then Lance’s other hand found his forearm.

Keith heard himself shout, “Hold on,” as if there was anything else Lance could have done. His arms grew taut. The muscles in his back and shoulders were one system of cords straining and pulling on one another. He twisted his position, rolling to pull Lance up onto the ledge while Keith found more support against the wall, and Lance was still clinging to him when they had pulled him onto the floor of the cargo hold. Panting, Lance reached up and hit the door control. It slipped shut, and the two of them blinked at each other in the muted light.

There was a flash of gratitude in Lance’s eyes, but between both of their gasps for breath, he didn’t voice it. He stood up and walked past Keith to the end of the ship’s tiny cargo hold, scarcely a closet, and slumped back down against the wall.

Of course. Keith’s rush of adrenaline obviously came from the moment’s danger and panic, but his mind was engrossed in the split second that he had gotten to hold Lance. He’d thought, just for a second, that Lance might have leaned into his shoulder. He’d thought that he had seen something softer than thanks in his eyes. Wishful thinking was a poorly timed bitch. The sleep deprivation probably wasn’t helping, either. The rush went cold, and Keith watched the floor and wiped blood from a slice over his cheekbone.

“Only another, what, fifteen vargas before rendezvous?” Lance’s eyes had slipped shut, and once Keith muttered an affirmative, he reached up to his shoulder and unclasped the breastplate of his armor. “Cool. Well, it’s been like, forty vargas since either of us got any sleep. Peace.”

Keith couldn’t begrudge Lance that. He sighed and pulled himself to his feet, and he slipped through the inner door and the narrow hallway beyond it to reach the cockpit.

He didn’t know the pilot well, but he was a veteran in the coalition. He made some dry comment about being glad they could make it, and Keith brushed it away from his frayed nerves.

“I can fly,” Keith mumbled. He’d never made a good passenger. His hands were itching for control. “We’ll get there faster.”

The pilot spared him a glance dripping with doubt, and then he put his attention on taking the pod through the atmosphere.

“Paladin, you look like crap. I wouldn’t let you pilot a shopping cart.” Keith wanted to protest, but his knees were shaking under him and he couldn’t quite clear the blur from his vision. “Go get some rest. There’s food and medical supplies in the hold.”

Keith might have felt like he was being sent to time-out, but stamping his feet and complaining wouldn’t help his case. He was having trouble mustering up any more than an inarticulate grumble anyway, and he knew the dangers of flying fatigued. Shiro had always told Keith that a pilot should know their limits, and that Keith should only fly tired if he was sick of everyone on the vessel. Wherever he was, he would have been disappointed in Keith for considering it.

He padded back down the hallway and found Lance sorting through a couple of boxes. Lance looked up and tossed something to Keith, and Keith fumbled it before catching it right. It was a tiny sanitization packet.

“For the cut on your cheek,” Lance explained. “You look scary enough already without facial scars.”

Keith tore the packet open and tended to the cut without any real effort to be gentle with himself. It only stung if he thought about it; his senses were going dry and sallow. He just wanted to get to Black, get the debriefing with Kolivan done, and go back to Black to scan the universe until he passed out from exhaustion.

“You think I’m scary?” Keith snorted. Lance’s shoulders stiffened and the look on his face fell short of a sneer.

“Just get some sleep,” Lance grumbled. He pulled a few blankets off of one of the crates and rolled one up into a pillow.

That wasn’t a no. Maybe Lance just wasn’t mean enough to elaborate on what made the half-galra scary. Lance rolled over on his side to leave his back to Keith, and he didn’t try for any further conversation.

Keith sat against the wall toward the back of the pod, an unvoiced sigh in his throat. He was several feet away from Lance, and he thought that was plenty of room for Lance to sleep peacefully in the cramped hold. All that was left was for Keith to wait out the trip. If he couldn’t pilot, he at least needed to keep watch. One of them needed to be awake at all times.

Keith might have overworked himself. For what felt like every few minutes, he would reopen his eyes and jerk to attention, but he only had the dim room, kept warm by the humming engines below it, and Lance’s sleeping form beside him to watch over. He was exhausted enough to think it was a good idea to follow Lance’s example in shrugging off the plates of his armor, and leaning against the wall was a little more comfortable without their weight. The next time his eyes drifted shut, he didn’t open them again for a long time.

Sleep was on a hard metal floor, but he was warm. Something was warm. It was close by, brushing against his arm and back, and it was easy to follow. He would have been a fool not to chase it. Then everything was warm.

His body only allowed him to wake after getting the few hours of sleep it needed to restart and function. By then he was still aching with exhaustion, but consciousness wasn’t such a burden. His mind was neither racing nor falling flat and blurry. He was able to breathe the dry metal scent of the cargo hold and simply be. As he collected himself, disoriented from the stress on his sleep cycle, he was able to savor the warmth against his back and around his waist.

Soft, warm breath tickled his ear.

His eyes opened a millimeter at a time. Their gaze landed across the tiny hold, nothing between him and the far wall.

He mapped out the pressure against his body without moving. A firm chest hugged the curve of his back, and an arm was draped around him, elbow across his waist and forearm curling back up along Keith’s ribs. The hand was pressed over Keith’s heart, and worst yet, Keith’s own hand rested over the other to cradle it there. On top of that, a blanket lay over them and Keith’s head was resting on the makeshift pillow.

Lance was a phenomenal big spoon.

Keith went still. What was he supposed to do? Pull away? That might wake Lance up, and well, Lance deserved to rest for a little while longer. Keith really shouldn’t risk it.

It wasn’t Keith who nestled closer, either; that was all Lance. Keith felt him stretch, heard him take in a deep breath, and let him lean his cheek into the side of Keith’s neck. He was amazed that his racing heart didn’t wake Lance up.

Or maybe it did. Lance took another deep breath and nuzzled Keith under his ear, which made Keith’s heart stop altogether.

“Keith?” Lance whispered, and Keith almost discovered how to disappear from time and space entirely. He lay there, frozen and holding his breath, and finally croaked an answer.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, shit.” Lance jolted and tried to sit up. He only made it halfway before his hand had to stop, tangled with Keith’s fingers. Keith tugged his own hand back and spread his fingers to release their grip. The next couple of seconds were used to scramble out from the blanket and away from each other. Keith sat up with his back against the metal side of the hold, and Lance did the same against the perpendicular wall. They made eye contact in short, nervous bursts.

“I’m sorry,” Keith spit out first. “I just fell asleep, and–”

“It’s fine.” Lance’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Sorry, I thought you were cold.”

Keith could feel the stupid look on his own face.

“You–? On  _purpose_?”

“No!” Lance spluttered. “No, not on purpose. Just the blanket. I just… gave you some blanket, and I guess when we were asleep…”

“Oh.” The heat on Keith’s cheeks made his skin tingle. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The silence was agony. The two of them were finally able to look at each other directly, but this turned into a staring contest. Whoever looked away first admitted how awkward the whole room felt.

“We’ve still got around…” Keith broke the stare to look down at the clock on his discarded wrist guard. “Eleven vargas.”

“Oh.” Lance shuffled the blanket in his hands. “Do you wanna, like… take turns? You’ve gotten less sleep than I have.”

“That’s alright.” Keith kept his eyes on his knees and cleared his throat. “You go ahead.”

“No, man, it’s your turn.” Lance pushed the blanket towards Keith as well as the one standing in for a pillow. Keith nudged them back.

“I don’t need them.”

“Keith, come on.” Lance’s frown found real frustration. “What do I have to do to make you get some sleep?”

Keith wished he had a good answer, but all he could picture was Lance’s arm around him. He hoped Lance couldn’t see his flushed skin in the dim lighting. Lance watched that absent reaction, sucked his teeth, and cleared his throat.

“Well… I’ll tell you what.” Lance pulled the pillow-blanket back into place and lay down to rest his head on it - on one distinct side of it. “I’ll only take up half the space, so if you know anyone else who wants a nap, you know where to point them.” He pulled the blanket over himself again, leaving half of it unoccupied.

Keith couldn’t breathe for what felt like minutes. He only stared and waited until Lance’s breathing evened out. This was Lance, who hated Keith’s hair and only begrudgingly accepted him as the Black Paladin. Lance, who had unironically used the term ‘beauty sleep’ in the last week. Lance, who had left a spot for him in the crummy makeshift bed.

Slowly, careful not to wake him, Keith crawled under the blanket.


End file.
